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The road to the ranch is hot and dusty under the midday sun. Rabbits scurry through the underbrush on the sides of the road and turkey vultures circle the carcass of some unfortunate animal that has recently succumbed to the heat.
Edward Cullen walks down this road, briefly considering if it was worth extracting the fluids from the animal. He decides against it, figuring there will be plenty of time alone at the ranch that will give him a chance to satiate his thirst. In any case, the blood of animals is still hardly satisfying to him, no matter how hard Carlisle, our father vampire of sorts, tries to train him to enjoy it. This is mostly just him being weak. When Carlisle taught me I caught on pretty fast.
He wears long sleeves and pants, careful not to let any of his skin be touched by the sun. Atop his head is a wide brimmed hat with dark netting hanging from the brim, skimming his shoulders. He is aware that it makes him look strange to an outsider, but it’s preferable to being exposed for what he truly is.
In due time, he reaches the ranch. There’s a few small buildings and barns in a semicircle, and one much larger house sitting away from the rest. Out in the fields are hay bales mounted on wagons and a hay baler, but no workers, strange considering it’s the middle of the day. Edward thinks nothing of this, since he’s a clueless city slicker, and knows nothing about how farming works.
He walks up to the house and knocks on the door. While he waits for someone to come to the door, he ponders life. Well, ponder is a nice word for it. Really, what he’s doing is more like brooding edgily. He does that a lot actually. It’s quite annoying, especially when you try to talk to him and make him feel welcome in the family, which you shouldn’t have to do since he’s been a vampire longer than you, but Carlisle insists, and all he does in response is grunt. But I digress.
Eventually someone comes to the door, and I no longer have to watch Edward get an edginess boner. The man who comes to the door is small and squat but trying to make himself look bigger. He wears a neatly pressed shirt with a vest overtop, and he wears the largest hat Edward has seen worn by someone who isn’t an actor in his life. He also wears boots with heels that are at least three inches, and although I’m all for men wearing heels, this man does not have the legs for it.
The man grunts, spits on the porch, then glowers up at Edward.
“Who the hell are you supposed to be?”
“My name is Edward Cullen, and I would like a job here.” The man scoffs at this response.
“You gotta work permit? I wasn’t supposed to get anyone new today, and if you ain't gotta permit I ain’t supposed to letcha work.”
Edward shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t have a work permit, no, but I work hard.”
The Boss looks unimpressed. He spits on the porch again.
“I’ll work for half the usual.”
This must’ve been exactly what he was looking for, because the Boss’s demeanor changes instantly. He grins, spits in his hand, and reaches out to shake. Edward shakes without hesitation. Can I just say how gross that is? What is it with this guy and spitting? Is he physically incapable of swallowing? Does he just salivate more than usual? So many questions.
While shaking hands, the Boss notices Edward’s gloved hand.
“Why you gotta glove on? Ain’t your hand get hot? Also, what’s with the goofy headgear?”
“I have a… skin condition,” says Edward. “I get sunburnt easily, so I have to keep my skin covered.” This seems to placate the Boss. He grunts, and signals for Edward to follow him.
Edward follows the Boss to one of the smaller buildings. The Boss unlatches the door, but before he goes in, he turns to Edward.
“You know, I probably shouldn’t be doin’ this. I could get in a lotta trouble if anyone found out. But seein’ as I just lost a fewa hard workin’ guys I sure need some workers.” The Boss then makes a sound that I think is supposed to be a chuckle, but it sounds more like an elderly smoker choking up a lung.
Edward nods politely.
It’s very awkward for a moment.
Finally the Boss turns and lets Edward come inside the bunkhouse. There are eight bunks, sixteen beds, in total, and all but two of the beds are bare, most of them seemingly stripped recently. Sitting on one of the sheeted beds is a tall, handsome man, combing out his shoulder length black hair, a hat lying on the bed next to him. His movements are slow and methodical, a light smile playing on his lips as he pretends not to notice the Boss coming in.
The Boss clears his throat and the man takes his sweet time to look up.
“Yeah Boss?” he says finally.
“This’s a new guy. He ain’t gotta work permit, but we don’t gotta worry ‘bout that right?” the Boss doesn’t give the man a chance to respond before continuing, turning to Edward as he does so. “Alright, I gotta get back to the house, but Slim’ll show you around right.” He leaves then, but not before spitting on the bunkhouse floor. It’s a really nasty one too, big and goopy and viscous.
Slim goes back to combing his hair while Edward looks around, sizing up the room.
“You can pick any bunk that’s empty,” says Slim. “There’s only me and Carlson bunking here now.” Edward’s gaze jumps to look at him, fixing him with that weird predatory stare of his.
“What happened to the others?” asks Edward. Slim smiles and sets down his comb. He definitely wanted Edward to ask him this, and Edward knows because he can fucking read minds. No, I’m not jealous, you are.
“Well, it’s a bit of a story. You aren’t superstitious are you?” Slim’s voice is low and relaxed, slightly teasing as if he and Edward are already old friends. It's super sexy actually; I wish I had a chance to meet him without Edward around. I would’ve professed my love for him in a second.
Edward is amused by Slim’s question. “Not particularly, no.”
“Well some guys were sayin’ this ranch is haunted. The Boss’s son’s wife got killed by one of the ranch hands, this big guy named Lennie, yeah? And then Lennie’s pal George had to kill Lennie when Lennie stole Carlson’s Luger, and of course George feels so guilty. We weren’t expecting it, but he must’ve felt real, real bad ‘cause George hangs himself the next day. The final nail is when not even twenty four hours later, our swamper Candy drops dead on account of a bad heart.” Slim stops here to wipe his eyes.
“A lot of the men got scared away by that. Four people dead in barely three days? That’s just bad luck, but a lot of the guys thought it was something more, that the wife’s ghost had come back and was haunting the ranch. I tried to convince them that was foolish, but they wouldn’t believe me.” He trails off, his mind clearly somewhere else. He fingers the prongs on his comb mindlessly, before realizing that Edward is still there.
“But enough about the ranch’s boring problems. What brings you here with your stylish hat?” Edward stares at Slim for a second too long before responding. (He’s already got a crush. It’s not even subtle to anyone who isn’t a disaster bisexual.)
“There’s not really much to tell. I was looking for a job and the man in the unemployment office said this would be a good place to look. And the hat’s because I have a skin condition that means I burn easily.” Slim is unconvinced.
“There’s no way Leon recommended us. He hates the boss’s son, Curley.’”
“Okay, you caught me,” says Edward, grinning beneath his hat. “I heard it was a good place to lay low while I'm figuring things out, so here I am.” Slim also grins at this. He’s about to say something more when the door creaks open.
Standing in the doorway is a barrel chested man with ferocious muttonchops and a mustache that belongs on a walrus.
“Hey Slim,” he says. “I’m back from town. You ready for dinner?” He spots Edward and does a double take. “Hold up, who’s the new guy with the hat?”
Slim smirks. “Why don’t you ask him? He still hasn’t told me his name.” Edward blushes at this. (Gay. Gay. He’s gayyyyyy.)
“I’m Edward Cullen, nice to meet you.” He extends his hand for a handshake, but drops it when the new man just stares at his hat. “The hat is for sun protection. I have sensitive skin,” Edward adds. This seems to satisfy the man.
“Alright then. I’m Carlson. Now let’s get to dinner, shall we?”
The farm is quiet at night, with only the sounds of crickets chirping and the rustling of the plants in the breeze. The mess hall is open to the air, with two long tables side by side. The food is paltry to say the least, just beans and a few pieces of slightly stale bread. A lit lantern illuminates the area, but beyond a few feet the darkness hides the fields. Edward stares at his bowl, considering a particularly large chunk of some sort of meat, while Carlson chats with Slim about the happenings in town.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Edward looks up to see Carlson squinting at him from across the table. “Your skin doesn’t stop you from eating, does it?”
Slim chimes in. “You could take off your hat if you like; the sun’s gone down so you’ll probably be okay.” Edward thinks for a moment, then reaches up and removes the hat.
Beneath the hat he has messy bronze hair, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. His skin is as pale as snow and his eyes are a dark gold. Slim and Carlson both stare at him.
Edward locks eyes with Slim from across the table.
“What are you two looking at?”
Slim suddenly becomes very interested in his bowl of beans, while Carlson chortles. His laugh even sort of sounds like how I imagine a walrus would laugh.
“Whoo,” Carlson says. “I’d want to keep the sun off my face if I were that pretty. I bet you had the girls flocking to you back in town. You have a special someone?”
“I’m going to go to the outhouse,” says Slim, before Edward can answer. He slides the bench back, and walks away quickly. Edward and Carlson watch him disappear into the darkness before turning back to conversation.
“So do you?” asks Carlson again.
“No,” says Edward simply. “I haven’t found anyone who’s seemed appealing.” Carlson responds to this by taking a large mouthful of beans.
Once he swallows, he glances back at Edward.
“So why’d you come to this here ranch? All the folks in town think it’s cursed. They’re right of course, but that’s just more reason not to come.”
“Do you really think the ranch is cursed?” Edward can’t keep the mockery out of his voice.
“Hell yes. I’ve seen her.”
“Seen who?”
“Curley’s wife. You know Curley?”
“Slim mentioned that he was the Boss’s son, but nothing else.”
“Well he’s a mean guy, but short. He’s gotta little bit of a… what d’ya say… Napoleon complex. He was always tryin’ to pick fights with the workers until he got his hand crushed.”
“He got in a fight?” asks Edward. Carlson seems to find this uproariously funny, and it takes him a while to stop his chortle.
“Sure did, though most people think he got it stuck in a machine. He tried to pick a fight with this guy named Lennie and Lennie straight crushed his hand like a grape.” Carlson pauses now, his face growing somber. “Lennie’s the son-of-a-gun who killed Curley’s wife. He just up and snapped her neck. Never seen nothing like that in all my time.” He starts to shake his head. “Those were some sad, sad days on the ranch. Most’ve the guys left, and now it’s only me, Slim, and Crooks, the stable buck. We might be laid off soon if we can’t get more guys to help out. Curley’s been going into town to try to recruit people, but he’s not the greatest at getting people to like him.”
There’s a sudden shout from just beyond the light of the lantern.
“Ay Carlson! Whatcha saying about me?!”
A short, wiry man saunters out of the black. He has curly hair, a look on his face that’s halfway between a smirk and a glare, and high-heeled boots that he actually has the legs for. His right arm ends in a rough bundle of gauze where the hand should be. He does a double take when he sees Edward, almost as if he was expecting someone else to be sitting there.
“Who the fuck are you, pretty boy?” he says, his expression solidifying in a sneer. “And why are you talking about me behind my back with Carlson, huh?”
Carlson cuts in. “We weren’t saying nothing bad about you Curley. I was saying how you were going into town to get more people to come to the ranch. And this is Edward, our new worker.” Curley continues to glare at Edward and sits on the bench next to him with a thump.
Carlson serves up some beans from the pot into a bowl, which he passes to Curley, along with a hunk of bread. The three men sit there for a while, the quiet only broken up by the sounds of Curley eating, and the occasional animal noise.
Curley looks up from his food once he finishes. He gestulates with his good hand towards Edward.
“How old are you anyway? You look too young for a worker,” says Curley.
Edward seems to have anticipated this question.
“I get that a lot,” he says, which is a total lie. “I’m actually almost 30, I just have a baby face.” That at least isn’t a lie; he was born in 1901, so even if he looks younger, he’s quite a bit older than that in terms of life experience.
It’s now that Slim comes back from the outhouse. He nods a greeting at Curley and retakes his seat by Carlson. The tension between Curley and Slim is instantly noticeable, but Edward decides not to comment on it.
Carlson excuses himself after a short time, and Slim and Edward follow suit. The three men walk back towards the bunkhouse. At the door, Edward pauses.
“I need to go relieve myself. I’ll be back in a moment,” he says. He hands his hat to Slim, and walks off, not intending to go to the outhouse.
Once he is sure he’s out of sight, he relieves himself of the horrible human food he had to eat in order to maintain cover. (By puking it up. Not peeing. That would be weird.) Then he begins to run the dark fields, partially looking for an animal that will be large enough to satiate the cravings he feels from going without feeding for so long, partially to burn some of his pent up energy. In the near silence of the night, the rustling of the grasses sounds almost like someone whispering, and as the sound picks up with the wind, Edward shivers. He’s kinda a wimp sometimes, whereas I’m always brave. Except around wasps.
The grasses abruptly end in a small clearing towards the end of the property line, just off the main road, where the plants begin to grow wild. In the clearing are three medium sized rocks, and one proper headstone. One of the rocks is dated to December of several years ago, but the other two rocks and the headstone are carved with two dates that are barely a month ago.
Edward swiftly stops, and crouches down to run his fingers over the inscription on the headstone. It’s a surprisingly barebones affair, with only a date of birth and death and a name that refers to the grave's inhabitant only in the context of her husband. Edward inspects the grave carefully before letting out a low breath and standing.
The grass’ whispers crescendos again, and that’s when Edward sees her. Standing not ten feet away is a woman in a plain cotton dress. Her head lolls at an unnatural angle, her face obscured in tarnished curls. The moonlight shines through her translucent body, creating the illusion that she glows.
She seems not to notice Edward, instead she shuffles slowly through the overgrown field. Edward follows her and within a few minutes it becomes clear that she is heading towards the main house.
The woman rounds the house and stops short of the back porch. Her neck slowly rights itself to aim at the sole visible window on the second floor. Faint, flickering light can be seen from the window, and Edward conceals himself behind a shed while he tries to listen in on the thoughts of the person in the room.
First he overshoots and accidentally overhears the Boss thinking about plucking his nose hairs, which is not something anyone ever wanted to overhear. Despite being probably traumatized by this, Edward eventually manages to pinpoint the thoughts in the room. To absolutely no one’s surprise they belong to Curley.
Curley is getting up to close the blinds. He looks out the window to the backyard. Standing just beyond the porchlight is a woman. Curley knows this woman. He had her, and then he didn’t anymore, and now she’s back for him. He’s seen her every night this past month and he’s sure that it’s just a figment of his imagination, but what if it isn’t? What if she’s back for him? He knows that he treated her poorly, but he’s a man and he’s allowed to treat women however he wants, so she doesn’t have any right to bother him from beyond the grave. She didn’t even love him anyway, she was always fawning over Slim.
But, cuts in the part of his brain he tries to ignore, he didn’t really act like he loved her either. He treated her like a trophy wife, like a prize, not a person. It’s no wonder she wanted something more.
Curly shakes away all these silly, unmanly thoughts and yanks shut the blinds, but not before he steals one last glance at his wife.
Edward collects his thoughts back to himself and considers everything he has just heard, along with everything he’s ever heard about ghosts. It’s probably not much, since whenever I try to talk about ghosts or wasps or spit or literally anything with him he brushes me off.
He meanders back to the bunkhouse, draining a prairie dog that he snatches from it’s burrow as he goes. When he reaches the bunkhouse, he’s so wrapped up in his thoughts he doesn’t notice that someone is sitting on the bed, reading a book.
“That was a long bathroom trip,” says Slim, looking up. “What took you an hour to go do?”
Edward at least has the decency to look embarrassed, a warm pink flush rising to his cheeks. “I was… looking around,” he finishes lamely. He could look inside Slim’s mind to find an answer that would let him get off scot free, but for some reason he feels like that would be an invasion of privacy. (That’s because it is. Also I’m shipping these two so hard it’s almost painful.)
“Looking around,” repeats Slim. “You see anything interesting?” He raises an eyebrow as he adds, “Maybe the ghost Carlson goes on about seeing?”
“Yes,” responds Edward simply.
“Well come on now, you’re yanking my chain. I was hardly surprised when Carlson said he saw a ghost, but I thought you were at least somewhat sensible. You’ve got to know that ghosts and vampires and nonsense aren’t real”
“I swear it, the ghost is real. I saw her and I think I know what she wants.” Slim still looks disbelieving, but his expression softens.
“Well here’s how it is Edward, I believe that you believe you saw it-” Slim is cut off from saying anything more when Edward grabs his wrist and yanks him to his feet. Edward pulls Slim in close and fixes him with a look that is at once aggressive and completely calm.
“I need you to help me do something to help lay a dead woman to rest. If you can’t help me because you don’t trust me, tell me now.”
Slim takes a long look, deep into Edward’s eyes. Whatever he sees in there he seems to like, because he nods.
“Whatever you need.”
It’s early morning now, the sun not yet peeking over the horizon, but the sky slowly beginning to shift to the brilliant colors of sunrise. Slim stands on the front porch of the Boss’s, steeling himself before he knocks, once, twice, on the thick wooden door. There’s about a minute until someone comes to the door as both the Boss and Curley are wont to sleep in, the lazy privileged swine that they are.
Curley opens the door, his father standing just behind him. He’s still in his bedclothes, a silk shirt and pants that probably cost more than what most workers make in a month. He rubs his eyes with his hand, shaking off his grogginess, before scowling up at Slim.
“What in the goddamn fuck are you waking me up this early for?”
“The new guy must’ve rode off in the middle of the night with Jenny, because they’re both missing.
This seems to mean something to Curley, as his face turns a shade of scarlet usually only seen on fire engines.
“He stole Jenny?!” he shouts. “That son-of-a-gun stole my prize horse! Oh, I’m gonna get him, I’m gonna get him good. Which way’d he head? I’m gonna track him down and go shoot him dead! Lemme go get my pistol.” Curley rushes back into the house, reappearing a moment later with a pistol at his hip, still wearing his cotton pajamas. The Boss seems bored, a stark contrast to Curley’s gusto, and he turns and ambles away from the door, presumably back to bed
Curley runs to the main barn, with Slim trailing behind him. While Curley berates Crooks, the stable buck, for “letting” his horse be stolen, Slim leads two of the horses out of the stable. The two men mount the horses, and spur them into the field.
Slim leads now, following the path where Edward and the horse had plowed through the grass. The path is actually quite obvious, even in the dark, almost like it was deliberately left. (Hint, hint.) It continues, winding through the field before it comes out in the small clearing Edward found the night before, where it ends.
Standing in the clearing is a horse. She’s lean and muscular, with a beautiful bronzey chestnut coat, and now it sounds like I want to fuck the horse, but trust me, I don’t. Standing next to the horse is Edward. The way I described the horse also describes him, now that I think about it.
Moving so quickly his body blurs, Edward pulls Curley from his horse and pins his arms behind his back. Curley lets out a squeak that he immediately covers with bluster.
“What the hell?” he yells, eloquent as always. Edward doesn’t respond. Instead he drags Curley over to his wife’s grave, and slams him to his knees. He holds him there for a moment, clearly expecting something to happen, while Curley struggles and sputters.
A faint, staticy hum fills the air, and Curley’s wife fades into view, standing over her headstone. She’s just as translucent as before, but she seems almost more solid in the presence of Curley.
Edward quickly takes a few steps back to where Slim still sits atop one of the horses. Curley begins to rise slightly, but before he can get far his muscles seize and lock in place, his face contorting in surprise. His wife moves towards him, passing through the headstone, and coming to a stop with her head, hanging loosely from her neck, looking down on him.
Then she speaks, and her voice sounds like a whine of feedback, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
“You are to blame,” she intones.
“I didn't kill you!” pleads Curley. “It was that son-of-a-gun Lennie! Not me!”
“This is true, but you are to blame,” repeats his wife. “You treated me like filth, like a possession. I could never reach your impossible standards for what a woman should be. You made me feel worthless and so I looked for love in the wrong places. I looked in the wrong places and I paid with my life.
“You didn’t kill me physically, but you killed my spirit, my will, you killed the things that made life feel worth living. You didn’t kill me physically, but you might as well have.
“You didn’t kill me, but now I will kill you.”
With these words, Curley’s muscles start to work again and he starts to scramble backwards. It is in vain of course.
The woman in the cotton dress, the woman whose name went unused in life, as well as in death, reaches out. Her hand reaches into Curley’s chest. When it pulls out, it comes out grasping a crude stone heart, which promptly shatters into dust. As it shatters, Curley keels over, the life swiftly draining from his eyes.
Then, just as swiftly as she appeared, the woman dissolves into the wind, a small mound of dust on the ground the only evidence she was ever there.
There’s a hush now, the wind settles down, and the animals quiet. The sun peeks its head over the horizon, and the sky is awash with beautiful pinks and oranges and red, the colors of roses and passion and autumn leaves; the colors of a hot desert night; the color of a vibrant coral palace where fish frolic and swim.
Slim slips off his horse and places a hand on Edward’s shoulder. They stand there, watching the sun rise in the east, and for a while everything is okay.
Then they remember the dead body.
They had planned for eventuality, and Slim takes all three horses by the reins, steering them away so that they won’t panic when Edward takes the gun from Curley and shoots him point-blank in the chest. Edward props Curley into a position more to his liking, then walks over to where Slim stands with the horses.
Edward looks Slim straight on. “I suppose this is goodbye now. There’s no way I can stay on the ranch with Curley dead; there would be too many questions.”
“I could come with you,” suggests Slim, trying and failing to keep the pleading out of his voice. “We could travel together, find someplace new to settle down.” You can see from his face though that he knows this will never happen. Edward is something wild, something dangerous, something that Slim, as logical and rational as he is, will never fully be able to understand.
Edward shakes his head sadly, and a look of deep understanding passes between the two men. They embrace each other fully, then pull back to look at each other one last time.
“Tell me this before you go though,” says Slim. “How’d you move that quickly when you took down Curley? Don’t tell me I’ve fallen in love with a ghost.”
It takes Edward a moment to recognise the weight of what Slim has just said, and it takes him some time to respond.
Now I’m not going to write down their last few words to each other out of respect for their privacy (take notes Edward), but what I can say is that Slim will die, many years later, secure in his knowledge that one of the loves of his life was something more than human.
The road from the ranch is warming in the early morning sun, but still far from hot. As he runs at speeds far beyond what is possible for normal humans, Edward Cullen briefly considers going back to extract the fluids from Curley’s body. He decides against it, knowing that if he went back it would be too hard to leave again.
In any case, there will be plenty of other opportunities in the future, even if it aches so badly to leave this one.